


The Heart Wants

by TammyRenH



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Explicit Sexual Content, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pining, References to Depression, but the comfort part is mostly sex, cause wincest, references to unspecified eating disorder
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-29
Updated: 2020-05-29
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:40:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24439849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TammyRenH/pseuds/TammyRenH
Summary: There is no place that Sam can run that Dean can’t find him. There is no part of Sam so twisted that Dean can’t love him.
Relationships: Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester
Comments: 22
Kudos: 137
Collections: Sam Winchester Prompt-a-thon





	The Heart Wants

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by [intrepidheart](https://archiveofourown.org/users/intrepidheart/pseuds/intrepidheart) in the [SamWinchester_Prompt_a_thon](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/SamWinchester_Prompt_a_thon) collection. 



> **Prompt:**
> 
> "What are you doing here?"
> 
> "You told me to follow my heart. So I did. Didn't think it would choose to live in such a shitty apartment though."
> 
> Just looking for angst, pining, confused brothers, an abundance of feelings and an ultimate heartfelt reunion.

_The heart wants what it wants — or else it does not care_. Emily Dickinson

  
There are levels of fuck-up-ed-ness, even for the Winchester whose picture really should be in the Guinness Book of World Records as the world’s biggest fuck-up in existence.

There’s the ‘I think drinking demon blood is an awesome idea’ level, the ‘oh look I let my brother down, again’ level, the ‘oops did I just start the Apocalypse level’ and far, far worse ‘I just accidentally got Kevin – Charlie – random hunters – trusting civilians - too many others to actually name and how fucked up is that? – killed’ level which really should be the highest level of fucked-up possible.

But somehow, Sam has even managed to top that.

The world should have ended, it was supposed to end, big Chuck-created explosion, one last final sacrifice for the Winchesters, here is your own-way trip to the Empty, over and done.

Except it was Jack who made the sacrifice, Cas, newly anointed all-powerful, who wiped the world of monsters before taking a one-way ticket to heaven, and Sam and Dean who were left behind, inexplicably whole and with no battles left to fight.

Once they mourned their losses, everything should have been good. Finally, they could lay down their swords, they could try on ‘normal’, see how it fit. Maybe even find a new place for themselves in this new monster-free world they found themselves living in.

Except Sam isn’t normal, and he will never be.

For weeks Sam and Dean barely left the bunker. They made vague noises about looking for a ‘real’ job, about shutting the bunker down, about spending a week in Disneyland or riding a donkey through the Grand Canyon, or spending a whole damn month in Las Vegas playing the slots and living the life of the bored and vacuous.

And yet at the end of every day, nothing had changed for either one of them. They were stuck. For Dean, maybe it was shock, or grief or being faced with so many possibilities that rather than choosing one, he just – didn’t.

For Sam – it was Dean.

The feeling had always been there, but he had always beaten it down, ruthlessly, more or less effectively. He drowned the feeling in women he loved for a while, in demon blood, and revenge, and righteousness, in fury and in so many losses.

But now – now it was just him and Dean and it wasn’t beating himself up about the litany of mistakes he made, or nightmares about what could (or should) have been or even remembering all the lost souls that led to long sleepless nights and endless cold, bleak days.

It was Dean. Dean who looked just as beautiful as he did when Sam left him behind to bury himself in Stanford, Dean with his over-protective nature, his smarts, his expressive eyes, his pouty lips.

Dean, who passed him by in the hallway late one afternoon, playfully shoving him to the wall. When Sam looked down, Dean’s lips were wet, and he was looking up at Sam with an expression in his eyes like – like - 

Want.

Sam pushed him away, too sharp, too pointedly, and practically ran to the bathroom.

Dean, who made sure Sam was warm enough as he sat in the library reading books, tucking a blanket carefully around his lap, and all Sam wanted to do was pull Dean in, soak him up.

Dean, who Sam stared at so long over a dinner of pork chops one night that Dean had asked, “What? Do I have mashed potatoes smashed in my teeth?” And then grinned at him, mouth full of food.

Sam should have been disgusted. He was disgusted. But all he wanted to do was to reach over and pull Dean into a kiss that left them both grasping for air, hungry for so much more.

He left the table abruptly, didn’t even stop when Dean called after him. Locked the door to his room, turned on some Mountain Goats, and tried to figure out a way to solve this level of fuck-up-ed-ness.

There was none.

He woke up in the morning in a sweat, the fading memories of a dream Dean, hands ghosting over his hips, mouth teasing, fingers exploring, whispering to him how much he loved to see Sam squirm.

Sam was half-hard and fully-done with himself.

If they continued to live together, Sam was going to slip up. He was going to expose just how deeply messed up he was. Dean deserved so much more than Sam’s twisted heart.

There was only one solution. Dean would never leave Sam, of this there was no doubt. So Sam, once again, would have to leave Dean. It was true to his nature, right? After all, he was the boy who was born to run.

So, he packed his bags. He bought a bus ticket online to a random town in Missouri. And he left Dean a note, like the coward that he was.

**One of us has to be the first to leave, so I guess it should be me. I hate goodbyes, and this isn’t a goodbye anyway, I’ll be in touch. Please don’t look for me. I think maybe it’s time we followed our hearts, see where they lead us.**

**Love –**

He crossed out the word Love, scribbled over it many times so that it was obliterated.

**See you somewhere down the road.**

He lied about planning to be in touch, left all his phones in the bunker, all his fake ID’s except for the one that proclaimed him to be Sam Smith and didn’t look back as he walked down the street, headed for the bus station.

Six Months Later

“You don’t eat enough Sam.” Lindsey said to him, not for the first time, or even the fiftieth.“You should eat more, you are wasting away right before my blood-shot eyes. Here, eat my croissant, my stomach’s too queasy anyway, I’d just barf it back up.”

Sam smiled at her, wiping the table off as he did so. “Save it for later then.”

“Ugh.” Lindsey replied, and pushed away the coffee, croissant, and her textbook. “I am never going to get through college, I’m going to be one of those bums that never can hold down a real job and – “ Lindsey’s eyes got big. “I mean, not like you, you are so smart Sam, you could work anywhere. I’d never made it through college algebra without you. I’ll never understand why you hide yourself away in here.”

Sam shrugged, picked up some empty coffee containers, took them behind the counter. “This job suits me.”

“If that was true, you wouldn’t have the saddest eyes of anyone I’ve ever seen.” Lindsey argued softly.

“Don’t practice your social work skills on me.” Sam warned, giving her his wan impression of a smile. “Speaking of which, don’r you have a class starting like in fifteen minutes?”

“Fuck. Yeah.” Lindsey grabbed the coffee, croissant, and the textbook, but took the croissant over to Sam. “I’ll be back to relieve you about three-fifteen. And eat this, this is an order from your assistant manager.”

Sam saluted. “Aye, aye captain.”

She had barely left the coffee shop before Sam threw the croissant away.

He drifted through the rest of the day, same as he had been drifting for months, brewing endless cups of coffee, making polite chatter, a shot of whipped cream for the teenager in a beanie, double expresso for the business man in the grey suit, half a sandwich for himself at lunch, mopping up the spill left behind by the over zealous two year old who had hair the same color as – 

No.

He walked around the town after work, endless steps down endless streets. He didn’t jog, not anymore, could not conjure up the energy required. He walked until it was dark, grabbed a tuna melt at the deli on the corner, and made his way to his apartment.

It was meant for a student, small, one-bedroom, furnishing at least three decades old, and mixed-matched at that. The sink, in the bathroom that was so small Sam barely fit inside, almost always leaked, no matter how many times Sam tried to fix it. The air conditioner blew luke-cool air. The couch always smelled musky and acidic. 

Home, sweet home.

Sam had been lonely before in his life. As a teenager, when Dean and Dad went on hunting trips and left him home to do the research, when he first went to Stanford before he made any friends, the time that Dean disappeared or the time he died or – 

He had been lonely before, but this – this was like a sickness he could not get over, a depression that clung to him like a second skin, a feeling of loss so intense that he could never get past the grieving stage. 

When he first landed here, by happen-chance and random who-the-fuck cares, he almost called Dean - seventy times a day. He’d picked up the cheap pay-by-the-month phone he bought at Wal Mart and dial one of Dean’s many numbers, all of which he knew by heart, and stop before he hit send or he’d type a message, something falsely cheery about finding his way and he hoped Dean was doing the same – and erase it. Over and over and over again, un-dialed numbers, unsent messages, compulsively, endlessly.

The phone was gone now, smashed to pieces and tossed away. He would not allow himself to go the library, to borrow a laptop, because he knew his only search would be his brother’s name.

He forced himself to think of other things, of Stanford and Jessica, of his mother and father, of where he would be and what he would be doing if he had lived any other life. 

But it was Dean he dreamed of, Dean who his thoughts wandered to over and over again, Dean who he couldn’t cut out or starve out or shove out of his thoughts for more than a few minutes every day.

Once he was a hero, kind of. Now he was – nothing, no one, a mechanical being who got up, got dressed, went to work, and came back and existed. Simply existed.

But it was worth it, this life, this emptiness, everything, if Dean was out there – happy, maybe.

He missed his brother.

Maybe it was time to call him, just to check in on him, see if he was okay. He knew Dean would be worried about him. Maybe just checking in from time to time would be okay, would soothe some of the ache.

He’d get a new phone tomorrow.

Sam laid in bed a long time, Kindle held in his hand staring at the same words, unfocused. 

The Kindle slipped from his hands forgotten, as he dreamed. Dean at the driver’s seat of Baby, grin wide open. Dean, strong and confident, taunting a demon that it was the Winchesters it should be scared of, Dean bursting with pride while Sam figured out the last piece of the puzzle, Dean – 

There was a crash in the kitchen.

Sam was wide awake instantly reaching under his pillow on automatic pilot before he remembered the gun wasn’t there – he had left it the Bunker with all the pieces of him that had hunted.

He slipped out of the bed, quiet man on quiet feet, made his way down the hallway.

And was ambushed by solid muscle throwing all their weight against him, sending them both crashing into the small living room.

And, high on adrenaline, puffing out enough air to run an engine, he looked up into a pair of familiar green eyes.

“Dean?”

Dean didn’t move from on top of him, instead he seemed to – settle, pushing his body harder against Sams.

“You are one hard mother fucker to track down.” Dean murmured.

Sam, body still taut in it’s fight or flight mode, was still trying to catch up.“Dean?”

Dean’s fingers were in his hair, his body a warm solid mass against Sam’s, Dean’s tongue darted out, and licked his lips and Sam stared, transfixed, at Dean’s lower lip, full and shiny…

Sam was as sick as he had even been, half a year had made no difference in that.

Sam bucked, trying to get Dean off of him, but Dean stayed firm.

“What are you doing here?" Sam bit out, letting his frustration drip from every syllable.

"You told me to follow my heart. So I did. Didn't think it would choose to live in such a shitty apartment though." Dean was grinning down at him still, still radiating infuriating calmness.

“Get off of me!” Sam snarled, trying to buck up again.

Dean’s fingers tightened in response. “I should have done this a long time ago.”

And before Sam could even voice the ‘what’ that was forming in his throat, Dean’s head lowered and those lips – the lips that Sam had fantasized about since he was in his late teens, were pressing against his.

Sam gasped in shock, and Dean took the gasp as an invitation, pushing his tongue inside Sam’s mouth, exploring, and fuck, fuck, Sam’s hands found their way to Dean’s hips, with the intention of pushing him away but instead they tightened there, clutching on to Dean as they kissed, deep, frantic, and Sam knew he should be fighting this, knew he should be pushing Dean the hell off of him, but instead he groaned as he pushed his tongue inside Dean’s warm and willing mouth.

“Damn.” They were both gulping, taking in deep breaths of much needed air. Dean pulled away from Sam, and Sam immediately missed his warmth and then Dean stood up and held out his hand to Sam. “We need to talk.”

“I’m sorry.” Sam said, once he was standing again and the world was righting itself. “Dean, I am so really sorry.”

Dean gave a short, snarl of a laugh. “For what? Running off again? Disappearing and me having to spend six fucking months searching for you? “

Sam shrugged, looked away. “I know you never wanted to – I know I somehow infected you, made you think you wanted – that kiss.”

“I’ve wanted to kiss you since you were fifteen and you were wearing those too big shorts with your sharp enough to make me wanna cry hip bones jutting out, and you had that long ridiculous hair that you were always hiding your eyes under and - you weren’t the one who infected me Sam, I was the one who infected you.”

Sam ran his fingers through his hair, tried to process the words but his brain refused to function properly. “You don’t want this.” 

Dean walked over the to the couch, plopped down, and the couch dipped with him. Dean picked up one of the frayed pillows Sam had placed there, more to cover how ugly the thing was than for any kind of decoration, and then patted the area next to him. “C’mon little brother, we are long overdue for a talk.”

“You usually avoid this kind of thing like the plague.” Sam pointed out, sitting beside him. The couch was practically groaning now, dipped so low that Sam chose to sit cross legged than to risk his knees trying to sit properly.

“Yeah, and that’s what got us into this mess.” Dean looked Sam over. “You look thin. Have you been eating?”

Sam made a face. “That really what you want to talk about?”

Dean blew out an exasperated sigh. “You aren’t going to make this easy, are you?”

“I’m not trying to make this anything at all. I set you free Dean, I don’t understand why you are here.”

“That ‘if you love someone set them free’ nonsense? It’s bullshit. If you love someone, grab them, hold on to them, make sure they know they are your whole world. I was a coward Sam, and that is why you ran. You were a coward too, and that’s why I’ve had to tear this fucking country apart trying to find you.”

“It’s not cowardice.” Sam objected, although he didn’t even believe the words as he was saying them. “Look, it was just a kiss, we can just forget anything happened okay? You can just – “

“That chick - Charlie that’s not? You know the one that came from the bad place or whatever the heck we are calling it these days, she wouldn’t help me at first. Gave me grief, told me if you wanted to be found, you would have left breadcrumbs for me to follow. So, I had to do this without my geek boy, without any geek help at all. It’s been a fucking hard six months, so you are going to sit there and listen to what I have to say.”

Sam nodded. Dean was right, he owed him that much. Hell, he owed him everything.

“We are fucked up, no getting around it. So really this is just – “ Dean looked at Sam, looked away. “I don’t think I can do this without some major courage of the liquid variety. Please tell me you’ve got a bottle of whiskey stashed in this hellhole somewhere.”

“No, sorry.” Sam got up, which wasn’t an easy feat from how low the couch was sitting, and headed to the tiny refrigerator in the kitchen, which was just a few feet away from where they were sitting because the apartment really was shitty, and small. He opened the mostly empty refrigerator, pulled out two beers. Thought better of it, pulled out two more which wiped him out. He brought them to Dean. “Best I can do.”

Dean opened one of the cans and began drinking. And kept drinking. Sam watched Dean’s adam apple flutter as the liquid kept pouring down his throat. He sat back in his cross-legged position, facing Dean, unable and yes, unwilling, to take his eyes off the sight. Half the can must have been drunk before Dean stopped drinking. 

“Not nearly strong enough.” Dean declared, as he rolled the can from one of his hands to the other. “But it will have to do.”

“It’s okay, I know what you are going to say. You figured out I was – am – that I wanted you that way and in your twisted mind you think – I’m not the little kid that you need to make sacrifices for anymore.”

Dean thumped the back of his head on the couch. “For such a smart guy, you can be a real idiot Sam. So, I am going to make this short and sweet before this conversation kills us both. I want you Sam. I want you in that way. I want you in all ways. I want you by my side. I want you riding shot gun with me in my Baby. I want you there every morning when I wake up. I want you in my bed. I want you Sam – in every single possible way there is to have you. Is that clear enough?”

“But we-re – “

“Don’t say it. Don’t.” Dean took another quick chug of the beer and sat the can down. He took Sam’s hands in his. Until then Sam hadn’t noticed that he had been twisting them, his own cans of beer forgotten on the floor. “I don’t care. That is what I should have said six months ago. I. Don’t. Care. I knew you wanted me, hell little brother, I knew it before you did. You might be able to read Greek and all that shit, but I can read you. I was just – yeah, it’s wrong, yeah it makes us twisted, and in the time I’ve spent turning over every rock and cranny looking for you I figured out – I don’t care. We’ve saved the world a kazillion times Sam, we have earned whatever happiness we can find and this – “ Dean leaned over, kissed Sam again, sweet touch of lips before he looked up at Sam, still so achingly close to him. “This is our happiness and I say we stop lying to ourselves, we stop denying ourselves, and we just – “

“Okay.” Sam interrupted, pulling Dean even closer so that he was almost in his lap. “Okay.”

His mind had been a chaotic jumble of noise, his heart pounding in his chest, but as soon as he gave up fighting, everything stilled.

“Seriously?” Dean asked, letting go of Sam’s hands to wrap his arms around Sam’s neck.“We just do this, and that’s it?”

Something settled inside of Sam. Something blossomed in it’s place. He took Dean’s face in his hands, pulled him closer, and this time he was the one who initiated the kiss. There was a short fight of dominance, a brief battle of teeth and tongue, until they settled into just exploring each other, Sam’s hands went to Dean’s back, Dean’s hands somehow found their way under Sam’s shirt, roaming over Sam’s hips.

“So, what now?” Sam asked, some interminable time over. 

“Well it’s been a while for me.” Dean said, reaching down to grab the beer again. His face was flushed, eyes bright. It was a good look on him.“But I think we get naked.”

Sam could feel his own cheeks flushing.“No, well I mean yeah, but after?”

“After you pack anything you want from this dump, which can’t be much, and we hit the road.”

“Back to the bunker?” Sam asked, as he took a drink of his own beer. If he didn’t cool off, he was going to blow embarrassingly fast and he knew, without any doubt, his brother would tease him about it for-fucking-ever.

“Nah.” Dean put the now empty beer can down, grabbed Sam’s legs and began to untangle them. “I gave the bunker to not-Charlie, she did help out at the end when she saw how desperate I was, plus I think it’s lost it’s useful ness for us. Settling down sounds great on paper, but really, my home is you.” He stood up, pulled Sam’s legs straight and then climbed back on top of Sam. Sam had barely enough time to put the beer can down before Dean was tugging on his shirt. Sam obediently lifted up his arms and after Dean tossed the shirt to the side, he pushed Sam the rest of him down on the couch. Of course, Sam had to dangle his legs off the side of the couch for there to be room, but he let Dean manhandle him until he was flat on his back. Dean scooted down until he was straddling Sam’s upper thighs, then leaned down to kiss Sam’s lower stomach, right where his pajama bottoms rode low on his hips.

“Fuck, Dean.” Sam moaned, as Dean’s tongue trailed it’s way up to his belly button.

“That’s the idea.” Dean looked up, bright smirk on his face. “Eventually. I’ve waited a long time for this, I plan to take it slow, savor it, savor you.”

Sam groaned, and heard the couch complain as Dean moved, settling more securely as he fingers began to explore one of Sam’s nipples. “I – I don’t think the couch is going to survive this.”

Dean’s tongue was in his belly button, licking inside and his finger was circling Sam’s nipple and Sam was so hard that if he didn’t get his boxers off soon, his dick was going to explode right through them.

“God, I hope not. Better ending then this piece of shit deserves really.” Dean replied and then he lifted himself up and over Sam and his lips were on Sam’s again and Sam forgot all about the couch as he wrapped his arms around Dean’s back and pulled him in until there was no space between them, until their two bodies were molded into one.

Sam’s hands found their way under Dean’s red shirt and began their own exploring.

Sam was quickly becoming addicted to the way Dean tasted, the way he felt.

Underneath the heat, the want, the lust, the way his body was humming, the thrumming of his heart, the feel of Dean’s skin on his fingers, underneath all of that –

Was joy like he had never experienced, joy so intense it welled out of him, spilled out of him as laughter as soon as their lips parted.

Dean lifted his head.“Something funny little brother?” He asked, and then he shifted his hips in such a way to line up their cocks, an unexpected, intense flush of pleasure that caught the laugh in Sam’s throat, replaced it with a groan.

“I love you.” Sam said in way of a reply, as his hands reached the edge of Dean’s shirt. “And you are wearing too many clothes.”

“I love you too.” Dean replied. “Always have. Always will. Now let’s get naked and fuck.”

“I always knew you’d be a romantic.” Sam said, as they struggled to pull apart long enough and far enough to pull their clothes off, knocking cans of beer over and hitting each other with elbows and knees as they did so. 

Finally, somehow, they were both naked and back in each other’s arms. Sam’s teeth were gently pulling on Dean’s nipple, Dean’s hands were on Sam’s ass, rubbing, pinching, as Sam wrapped his legs around Dean’s waist and their cocks rubbed together, delicious, rough, teasing pressure.

“So good baby brother.” Dean whispered, as Sam released the nipple to marvel at his handiwork – Dean’s nipple was peaked, red, swollen, perfect. 

He left the other nipple for the moment, choosing to kiss Dean again, because Dean’s lips were red too, and swollen and wet and were made to be kissed, were made to be kissed by Sam.

Dean’s hand rubbed against the sensitive area between Sam’s ass and his balls and Sam shuddered. Dean chuckled into the kiss, breaking their lips apart with a nip to Sam’s lower lip, and he began to nuzzle Sam’s shoulder, then began leaving his own mark, sucking and biting Sam’s neck until Sam was writhing underneath him.

Sam twisted Dean’s as yet untouched nipple between two of his fingers just to watch Dean’s body shudder in response. He wrapped his legs tighter, trapping their dicks between their bodies, Dean’s hands were pulling on Sam’s ass cheeks, he rubbed two fingers on Sam’s hole, the calloused fingers rough, and Sam could feel his balls tighten.

“Dean, we are going to have to slow down before I –“

Dean bit down on Sam’s shoulder just as his other hand tugged on one of Sam’s swollen balls.

Sam’s body arched as his orgasm hit him. Either by accident, or by instinct, he twisted Dean’s nipple again as his cock spasmed against Dean’s cock and with a curse Dean came too. They held on to each other as they fell apart, their come mixing together between their stomachs, their lips crashing together as they held on tight through the aftershocks.

It was several long moments before Sam could speak. “That’s not the way I wanted to come, but fuck Dean, that was – “

“Yeah me too.” Dean’s hand slipped between them, rubbing the come into Sam’s stomach. “After we get cleaned up, I’m going to explore every delicious inch of you. Make you come so many times, you’ll be coming dry and then make you come again. This is just the beginning baby brother; we’ve got the whole night ahead of us.”

Sam pulled Dean into another kiss, slow and deep, there was no need to rush, Dean was right, they had all night.

But more than that...

They had forever.


End file.
